


Lick

by itstonedme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Chocolate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trilogy of New Zealand fics, in what began as a drabble challenge for Orlijah_Month 2010.  Originally posted <a href="http://orlijah-month.livejournal.com/83780.html">here</a>, <a href="http://orlijah-month.livejournal.com/84007.html">here</a> and <a href="http://orlijah-month.livejournal.com/86344.html">here</a>.</p><p>Disclaimer: None of this is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lick

"I'm told that it's one of the most nutritious sources of protein on earth."

A gang of hobbits, men, wizards, elves and one very robust dwarf have gathered for a rare Yuletide feast near the local docks where they are shooting. John's assessing the merits of lobster, greasy fingers punctuating the air.

"Hey," Orli whispers to Elijah. 

Elijah is elbow deep in the dipping bowl. He looks up.

"You've got butter dripping from your lip."

Elijah's tongue slips out but he's way off the mark. "Where?"

"Here," and Orlando leans in for a quick lick that becomes something else altogether.

 

***

 

"Elijah."

Elijah looks up at Orli, and without a beat, his cheeks flush scarlet. "Oh fuck, what now?"

They've been slurping oysters with a tableful of friends for the better part of the evening, and chasing the slimy little devils with chilled Absolut.

Elijah's tongue is rimming his mouth in ways that might be considered sinful under other circumstances but are purely embarrassed at the moment. "It's not butter," he utters between swipes. "It's not beer. Tell me I don't have an oyster snot hanging out of my mouth."

"Not butter, beer or oysters," Orlando murmurs, leaning in. "Just you."

 

***

 

"'Ungol!'" shrieks Orlando. He's laughing so hard, he can barely breathe. "'Ungol', you bastards, that's my safe word, let me up!"

Friday night. The weekend off. A break in filming after the two-week push to get the fight sequences in and around Parth Galen nailed down. Uruk Hai, hobbits, men, elves, orcs and crew are blowing off steam and sanity -- and on occasion, each other, although all eyes are turned away blithely on that score, no one's telling tales. The elf is always a favourite target, which is why he's splayed across a surfboard between two sofa backs hosting body shots, Sala pinning both arms and Bean his ankles.

"Is there fucking one among you who even bothers to shave anymore? My poor, delicate elven peau," he pouts, dusting the salt and saliva off his chest and tummy and rolling off and onto the floor. "And you!" he points at Viggo with the beer bottle he's been handed. "You're the bloody worst! I thought I was going to lose my tattoo, you disgusting, bristly heap of Gondorian shit."

There's a round of Oooooos because those might just be fighting words, and Viggo's swaying red-eyed with a canary-eating grin and a look like he might mash his forehead into Orlando's to show no harm meant. 

"Right, who's next?" barks Bean.

"Me! My turn!"

The noise level drops a hundred decibels as a dozen brawny, scruffy men turn riveted on a flushed and enthusastic Elijah. Nasty, evil smiles start to curl across their faces.

"Maybe not," he squeaks.

"Hoist him aboard!" Sala shouts, and there's a flurry of hands and squeals and riotous laughter as Frodo gets airborne.

It's about to look like feeding time at the shark tank when Orlando's voice cuts through the merriment. "Coming through, gentlemen," he shouts as he makes his way. "Last victim has dibs, new rule." He quirks a smile as the groans go up and looks down at Elijah, who has gone absolutely wide-eyed and still.

Viggo's got his arm out to pass the Cuervo, but Orlando waves him off. "Brought my own," he grins and raises a plastic squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup over Elijah's trembling stomach amid the catcalls. "Let...me...see," he contemplates, eyes darting quickly to Elijah's bare nipples, then grinning as he glances at Elijah's ever-widening eyes and winks. He uses the capped nozzle to inch Elijah's jeans down a few inches, slyly considering his options while wolf-whistles cut the air, then pops the lid, having decided. He drizzles a spiraling circle straight into Elijah's navel, filling it to overflow. 

"Bring on the strawberries, boys!" he yells and dives in, tongue-first.


End file.
